” Manning tapped with his racket on the turf through some moments of silence. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. Thames Darrell MUST die. She was trembling a little. I have tried not to tell you—tried to be simply your friend. It was now evident that he had not been normal that first day. She located her foster family.
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